


i wasn't cut out for this (but my heart was)

by infernal



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/F, Flower Shop - Florist Teaches Customers Flower Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-27 09:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernal/pseuds/infernal
Summary: Yasha never planned to put down roots.





	i wasn't cut out for this (but my heart was)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [definefreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/definefreedom/gifts).

Yasha is sitting across from the police station when Mollymauk walks out, looking as exhausted as she feels. "Fuck," he says with feeling, throwing himself down on the bench next to her and giving her a critical once-over. "Should you even be here?"

"Probably not," she allows. Technically she had only been wanted for questioning, though, and now that the cops had pinned everything on Gustav, her conveniently-timed disappearance should be all but forgotten. "Are you all right?"

He shrugs, giving her a half-smile. "Been worse." It’s true for both of them, but that’s a pretty low bar.

She nods, stretching out her legs ahead of her. She’d been well on her way north to Alfield by the time Ornna had messaged her the all-clear. The roads had been deserted by then, and none of the few drivers on the road had been willing to pick up a hitchhiker of her size and obvious strength, so she’d had a long night of walking before she’d made it back to town. "Were those people from the other night with you?"

"They’re the ones that got me out, actually,” he says, and then sighs. “Ornna, Bo, and Toya are going to keep going with a new show. I think —" He sighs again, and leans against Yasha’s arm. She shifts obligingly, and he hums with approval. "I think I might go to Zadash for awhile. Find a bit of work and earn some coin to put towards Gustav’s fines, help get him out a bit earlier.” 

The idea of sticking around in one place has Yasha’s hackles rising, but Molly looks weary to his bones, and she knows not everyone is made for staying on the run like she is. There's no question of leaving without him. "All right," she says. "Sounds like a good plan."

He gives her a grateful look, and she tips her head against his. They’re silent for a long time, in that comfortable way she loves, and it quiets the restlessness that even now is already pushing at her mind.

* * *

It turns out that Molly didn’t pick Zadash at random. They meet up again with the group from the other night, all of whom are planning on making their way up to the city, so they've decided to travel together. "I work there, actually," Jester says, and launches into an explanation of how her mother gave her, like, a _lot_ of money when Jester had to leave town in a hurry (and that’s the story Yasha _would_ like to hear, but apparently it's not on the cards for today), but Jester had never really had to manage money herself and had a bad overspending habit, and so her mom thought maybe it might be better to set her up with some assets she couldn't fritter away. "So _technically_ I have, like, this giant building, and it's _super_ haunted. And my mom said I could rent to whoever I wanted, so I found this _really_ great tattoo artist who wanted to start a parlor, and now I’m his apprentice!"

"That’s pretty cool," Yasha says after a moment when it becomes clear that Jester is waiting for a response. 

She beams in reply. "It is!" she says brightly. "And I’m _really_ good and stuff. Can I give you a tattoo?"

"Oh," Yasha says. "Uh, maybe. When we’re not about to be driving." 

"That makes sense," Jester says. "I’ve never done a tattoo in a moving vehicle, although I bet it would look _pretty_ cool when I was done." 

"Molly might take you up on that," she says, and he shoots her a look when Jester’s full attention shifts to him. She shrugs, unapologetic, and Molly manages to direct Jester’s attention elsewhere with the offer of another card reading.

Yasha makes her escape and ends up helping Fjord load up the van. It’s easier for her — she notices his muscles straining under the weight of some of the heavier bags — but he has the look of someone with something to prove, if only to himself, so she lets him handle the heavy stuff and starts tying the tent and some more of the circus ephemera to the roof rack of the old vintage bus that Yasha suspects was another gift from Jester’s mother. 

When the time comes to leave, Jester’s already snagged the seat next to Molly, and the two of them are chatting each other’s ears off. Yasha sits in the seat behind them, a little bit relieved when the only one to claim the spot next to her is Caleb’s cat, who stares at her for a moment with wide eyes and then climbs carefully onto her lap, purring as he snuggles in. She smiles down at him, giving him a few scratches behind the ears, and then rests her head against the window, letting herself drift off to the sounds of conversation around her.

* * *

She feels the storm before she’s even fully awake, the crackle of electricity making her skin tingle as she blinks away a dream. 

“It just doesn’t make _sense_ for a vehicle to be the safest place in a thunderstorm,” Fjord is saying. “All that metal?”

“With all that rubber,” Nott points out.

“Underneath all the metal!” 

“We’re safe here,” Yasha says, yawning. Molly cranes his head back to peer at her and gives her a smile, which she returns. “Or out there, honestly.” 

“Wait, Yasha, do you have _storm powers_?” Jester asks. 

“She has storm acquaintances,” Molly says. Yasha smiles, touching the chain she wears around her neck. A simple symbol of the Storm Lord hangs from it, but she keeps it tucked under her shirt while they're in the Empire. So far, no one's guessed her affiliations (or, on the off chance they did, given a shit), but Jester gives her a knowing look and a secretive smile. “Anyway, she’s right, we should be fine whether we stay in the car or get out.” 

Yasha’s not surprised she’s managed to sleep the first leg of the journey away, as tired as she’s been. They’re parked outside a diner, and her stomach rumbles as she realizes how hungry she is. “Are we going inside?” 

“I guess,” Fjord says, still eyeing the sky apprehensively.

“Come _on_, Fjord, don’t be boring,” Jester says, and throws open her door, hopping out into the heavy rain. Yasha follows, tipping her head up to the sky.

* * *

Zadash is, somehow, even larger than Yasha remembers. It’s a far cry from where she comes from, and from most of the podunk towns the circus tends to pass through. Their odd group collects a lot of double-takes as they unload the bus, and Yasha feels the stares pierce through her. 

Jester, it seems, is oblivious, cheerfully unloading all of her bags into Molly’s arms (who then passes them to Yasha), and running over to unlock the door they’re parked by. “I’ll show you the tattoo parlor tomorrow, and of course you need to meet Caduceus, he owns the other shop next door, but you guys, my house is _awesome_, you’re going to love it.” 

It’s less a house and more of an assemblage of apartments — it looks like someone merged the two flats over the shops at some point, thinking only of space and not whether the apartments belonged together. One half is all modern and renovated; the other side is all antique fireplaces and original windows. 

“There’s more than enough room for all of you if you want to stay,” she says, and for the first time since Yasha's known her, she looks uncertain. “I mean, it’s just me here, and there’s a guest room that Caduceus uses when he’s too tired to go home. But there’s, like, five other bedrooms, and Caduceus wouldn’t mind sharing.” 

"I mean, _yeah_, Jester, holy shit. We're new in town, we're fresh out of jail, and this place is dope. Hell yeah, I'm gonna stay here," Beau says, and Fjord shoots her a pointed look. "Uh, as long as it's cool with you. You really don't mind?"

"Of course not! It's too big for just me,"

Jester says. She's starting to smile, though her voice still has a bit of that uncertain quality to it.

Molly glances Yasha's way, and they have a silent conversation. She nods, and he grins at Jester. "I don't know how long we'll be in town, but Yasha and I would be delighted to take advantage of your hospitality."

Which is how Yasha ends up with a tiny room of her own in the modern-looking side of the apartment. It’s clean and empty in a way she wouldn’t expect of a place where Jester lives, and it overlooks the back alley, and she’s somehow comforted to realize it’s a place she can’t see herself staying for long. (“Just for the winter,” Molly told her before they met up with the group again, and she knows him, knows he doesn’t want to stay too long in one place either.)

* * *

The tattoo parlor is decidedly less chaotic than Yasha expected. When Jester takes them down the next afternoon, it’s pretty quiet, with one tattoo artist working on a client and another at the front counter, working on some flash. The latter, a tortle with an eyepatch and what appears to be bagpipes coming out of his shell, brightens when he sees Jester. “Ah, you’re back!” he says. “Was it a good trip home?”

“It was!” Jester says. “My momma’s doing well, and then I made some friends —” she gestures around her; Beau waves awkwardly — “and then we all got suspected of murder because an old man turned into a zombie at a carnival.” 

“I... see,” he says. “Well, then, friends of Jester, good to meet you all. Orly Skiffback.”

Jester introduces them, one by one. It turns out that Fjord and Orly have both spent time on the sea, and they get to talking. Caleb, Nott, and Beau slip out to run some errands, and Molly lingers, flicking through the flash that Orly’s been working on. “Hey, Yasha, look at this one,” he says, nudging her. It’s gorgeous — she recognizes the distinctive petals of the creeper rose immediately and smiles, admiring the way Orly’s drawn the stems twisting around another, the thorns looking deadly. 

“Oh, isn’t Orly great?” Jester says. “His roses are, like, super popular, everyone thinks they’re so romantic.” 

“These are creeper roses, though,” Yasha says. “They’re not supposed to stand for romance — they represent ambition, because they climb wherever they want.”

“Really?” Jester says, wrinkling her nose and flipping to another page. “What about this one?” 

“Camellia of the dark lady,” Yasha says. “It’s, uh. Popular with necromancers. It represents immortality.” 

“And this one?” 

“Snowdrops,” she says. “They mean sympathy, and hope, and rebirth.” 

“Holy shit,” Jester says, and reaches for Yasha's hand. Yasha blinks in surprise; she knows thanks to Mollymauk that tieflings tend to run hot, and Jester is no exception. Her palm feels like it's burning where they touch, but it's not unpleasant. “Yasha, come on, you need to meet Caduceus, like, _right now_.”

* * *

Yasha is accustomed to being one of the tallest people in whatever room she walks in. It's only because Caduceus Clay is about seven feet of easygoing, friendly guilelessness that she doesn't find herself intimidated when he looms over her, shaking her hand and offering her a cup of tea as Jester introduces them.

The shop that Caduceus runs turns out to be a nursery. He’s been looking for a florist, apparently, since it’s difficult for him to do everything by himself, and he’d much rather focus on growing the plants. “Then Yasha’s perfect!” Jester says as they sit, sipping on the tea she made him promise was 'mostly flowers, easy on the dead people.' “She knows _everything_ about flowers, Caduceus.” 

“I told you about three different flowers,” Yasha says. “That’s all.”

Jester waves a hand. “Well, and you need a job, right? And this isn’t a bad job!”

“It really isn’t,” Caduceus says. “And I’ve got a good feeling about you.” 

“Oh,” Yasha says. “Well, I suppose I can give it a go.”

Jester lowers her voice, taking on a confidential tone. "I bet Mollymauk is going to be so pissed that you beat him to a job on your very first day here," she says. Yasha snickers, and Jester's expression upon seeing her laugh is surprised. Yasha wonders whether people just don't laugh at Jester's jokes most of the time, or if it's just that Jester's not used to having people to tell jokes _to_.

* * *

To her surprise, she’s not bad at the job. She’s not good with customers — she probably scares more away than she sells to on her first week, but Caduceus doesn’t seem too bothered. “The plants like you,” he says, and she can’t argue with that.

Jester is her best and most frequent customer, dropping in at least once a day, sometimes more. The tattoo parlor is starting to overflow with moonweaver’s tear and cornflowers, redflowers and dathils. Every time she asks Yasha for the meaning of whatever flower she happens to be holding, and if it’s something auspicious, Jester buys it.

Jester happens to be in the shop nagging Yasha about whether she’s _sure_ daisies have a sad meaning, aren’t they supposed to be bright and happy? — when Caduceus enters and brightens when he sees them both. “Oh, hey, listen, I’ve got someone really cool for you to meet,” he says, and they follow him to the greenhouse in the back. 

“Holy shit, Caduceus, that’s _huge_,” Jester says when she sees the giant bulb sitting in the middle of the room. 

“Is that a hinny?” Yasha asks, moving forward to examine the petals curled in against the bulb. 

“He is,” he says happily. “I was worried he wouldn’t survive the trip here, but he’s a trooper.” 

“Yasha, what do hinnies mean?” Jester asks, and Yasha laughs under her breath at how single-minded Jester can be, despite the aura of chaos she’s only too happy to generate.

“They only open one day a year, in the first week of spring,” she says.

“So, like, rebirth?”

“More like patience,” she says. “And that patience being rewarded.”

“Huh,” Jester says. “Caduceus, do you think it will bloom here?” 

“I think it’ll bloom anywhere,” he says. His voice is doing that knowing thing it does sometimes, where it sounds like he knows more than he’s saying; Yasha would hate it on anyone else, but it’s hard to be annoyed by anything Caduceus does. 

“You need to let us know when it’s blooming,” she says. “We need to see that, don’t we, Yasha?” 

"Molly and I will probably be gone before it blooms," Yasha says slowly.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Jester says. Yasha's gotten to know her well enough by now that she knows that the only time Jester has a nonchalant tone is when she's bothered by what's just been said.

"You'll have to let me know when it blooms," Yasha says. "You can text me pictures, or maybe we can do a video chat?"

"Sure," Jester says. "Of course."

"And I mean, who knows, maybe we'll still be in town then. We don't really have any plans past staying for the winter."

"It's fine, Yasha," Jester says. Her tone is still nonchalant, and she gives her a brilliantly sad smile. "Really, it's fine. Anyway, Caduceus, what do you use this plant for? Is it tasty? Can you smoke it?" 

Caduceus gives Yasha a sympathetic look before answering Jester's question. As he chats to her about the medicinal properties of hinny leaves, Yasha loses herself in thought, wondering exactly when it was that the prospect of leaving in the spring had her feeling more dread than anticipation.

* * *

“Hey, I haven’t forgotten, you know,” Jester says as she’s watching Yasha lock up.

“Forgotten what?”

“That you said you’d let me tattoo you! We’re not in a vehicle right now!”

It’s been ages since then, but of course Jester still remembers. “Right,” Yasha says. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she says. “Just, if you think of a tattoo you want, let me know.” 

“I will,” Yasha says, and she’s surprised to find that she means it.

* * *

"Ugh, that flowerpot in the front porch smells rank," Beau says, wrinkling her nose as she gets home one day.

"I think it smells nice," Nott says.

"Because it smells like Caleb," Jester says under her breath; Yasha hears her and does her best to stifle her laugh.

"It's bison-gourd," Yasha says. "It's meant to repel insects. I figured I'd bring one up, Jester mentioned something about a moth problem?"

She blinks when half of the group bursts into laughter, leaving her, Molly, and Caduceus watching them in bemusement while Jester blushes purple. "Perhaps we should put it by the curtains," Caleb says drily. "I had noticed there were some holes in them from hungry moths."

"We don't talk about the curtain incident!" Jester says.

"We definitely do," Nott says. "Okay, so the other day while you guys were working, Jester wanted to spy on the neighbors, so she Polymorphed into a moth. But she forgot it made her as smart as a moth, too."

"Which I assume is not very," Molly says.

"And all I did was eat the curtains," Jester wails. "For a whole hour!"

"Were they good, though?" Yasha asks, and Jester points to her.

"See, this is why Yasha's my favorite," she says. "She asks the important questions. Yes, Yasha, they were delicious, thank you for asking."

"Maybe you two should both Polymorph into moths sometime and have a nice dinner together," Nott says. Inexplicably, Jester's purple blush turns even darker. She's probably tired of being made fun of, so Yasha decides to change the subject.

"I don't really do vegetarian food," Yasha says. "Hey, Nott, did you add rats to the grocery list like we talked about?"

"We're not having rats!" Fjord says. "Ugh." And then the conversation is turning to the grossness level of various foods; her input to the conversation already given, Yasha sits back and watches Jester's coloring fade back to its normal blue.

* * *

It’s nearing spring when Yasha climbs the stairs back up to the apartment after work one day to the smell of paint lingering everywhere and Jester pointedly not making eye contact. When Yasha makes it to her bedroom, the little blank bedroom with the clinical feel and the terrible view — well, the view isn’t really that terrible anymore. 

“Jester, you did this?” she says, feeling Jester brimming with excitement beside her. 

“That’s why I only bought the good flowers,” she says. “I didn’t want sad things on your walls, you know? And I listened to everything you said they meant.”

“I didn’t tell you about all of these,” she says, her eyes passing over all of the different types of plants on the walls, lingering on duskwood trees and honeysuckle.

“Well, I did some research, too,” Jester says. “And I asked the Traveler what he thought I should paint.”

“A dick?” Yasha guesses.

“Oh, yeah, there are definitely some of those in there, and I think he painted a few of them himself, too. But he said I should do that tree, right there,” she says, pointing to the largest one, standing in the center of a field.

Yasha squints. “That’s a felsul tree, isn’t it?” she asks, and Jester nods. “They’re used in holy symbols a lot.” She touches the pendant she wears around her neck, the Storm Lord’s sigil carved into it. “This is felsul, in fact. Is that why you picked it?”

“Well, it helps,” Jester says. “But the Traveler said it’s strong, and it’s resilient, and it grows in places where nothing else can.”

“Jester,” Yasha says, and she can’t get any other words out for a moment; there’s an ache in her throat she hasn’t felt in a long time. She clears her throat. “Will you help me move my bed to be closer to the wall? I want it to be the last thing I see before I go to sleep, and the first thing I see when I wake up.” 

Jester smiles, and it feels like spring. “Of course, Yasha! I’m so glad you like it.” 

“I love it, I really do,” she says, and she wonders exactly how she’s ever supposed to leave this room now.

* * *

“You’re sure?” Jester asks, readying her inks. She’s spent the last hour carefully drawing on Yasha's arm: creeper roses wrapped around the trunk of a felsul tree, orchids and bison-gourd flowers framing everything. 

“I’m sure,” Yasha says, and Jester gets to work.

For all her usual chatter, Jester is apparently prone to working in silence. Getting the tattoo is more uncomfortable than painful, and Yasha leans back, closing her eyes.

"I wish all my clients were this chill about getting tattooed," Jester says later, when she's taking a break to keep her hand from cramping up.

"It's not too bad," Yasha says. "I'm not really squeamish about pain or anything."

"Not just that. You know I had a guy staring into the mirror the whole time the other day and he kept freaking out that the design was backwards. In the _mirror_, Yasha. You haven't even looked once, and it's your first tattoo! Aren't you nervous about how it's turning out?"

She shrugs. "I trust you," she says. "You're a good artist, Jester. I know it's going to turn out perfectly, I don't need to look."

"Oh," Jester says. Her voice sounds small, but not in that uncertain way that Yasha hates to hear. "Thank you, Yasha." She clears her throat. "Hey, do bison-gourds have another meaning? Or did you pick them just because of the moth story?"

"Mostly because of the moth story," she admits, and Jester makes an offended sound. "I thought they'd look good with the other plants, though! They're very pretty. They remind me of you." She didn't quite mean for those last two sentences to sound like they went together, but obviously they did, because Jester's smiling — not her usual mischievous grin, but something small, pleased, and private.

"You know what my favorite flower is?" Jester asks, picking up the tattoo gun again. "It _was_ cornflowers, but I think it's gonna be the hinny."

"What if it's ugly?" Yasha says, settling back down and putting her arm back in place for Jester to start working again. "Or what if it doesn't bloom?"

"It will," Jester says. "And I'm gonna like it no matter what."

* * *

"Work is going pretty well," Molly says to Yasha one evening, both of them curled up in front of the fireplace in the older side of the apartment. "And yours is too, yeah?" She nods. "I didn't expect to like it here, did you?"

"Not as much as I do, no," she says. Across the room, Fjord has fallen asleep on the couch, and Jester and Nott are doodling on him with markers. Caleb is tucked away in the corner, reading, but every now and then his eyes go blank and Frumpkin strides over to where Jester and Nott are having a serious discussion about artistic methods while they draw dicks all over Fjord; Caleb comes back to himself with an amused smirk on his face every time. Beau's got a dish of peanuts and she's busied herself trying to bounce them off Fjord's head; after a few misses, Caduceus starts casting Guidance to help her, and the peanuts start bouncing off Fjord's nose every time. Yasha smiles, shaking her head as she watches it all unfold. "It's good here, isn't it?"

"I called the Lawmaster in Trostenwald the other day," Molly says. "About putting some of our savings towards Gustav's fines. She said they couldn't take partial payments, it all had to be paid off at once."

"Shit," Yasha says. "How much?"

"Enough that we'd have to work at least another year to even think about getting him out," he says. "If that's something you'd be amenable to, I mean."

"I suppose a year's not so long," Yasha says. Molly's been smiling this whole time, but now, finally, it reaches his eyes.

"I suppose not," he replies.

Anything else he might have added is cut off when Fjord wakes up after a particularly hard peanut-throw. Jester lets out an "Eep!" as he curses and sputters, and runs across the room, ducking down so that Yasha is between her and Fjord. "Hide me," she says.

"I've got you," Yasha says, and Jester gives her one of those private smiles again.

* * *

Caduceus doesn’t need to let them know when the hinny finally blooms, because Jester’s insisted the three of them camp out next to it all week. It’s on the sixth day of spring that it happens, and Caduceus is up in the apartment making breakfast when the petals start to open. 

“Holy shit,” Jester breathes. The flowers are blue — brighter than they looked when they were still closed-off buds — and as huge as their petals promised. “We should go get Caduceus, he’ll want to see it.”

“He'll be back soon," Yasha points out. She feels a bit bad, but the sight is too spectacular for her to want to leave it right now.

"Have you ever seen something so beautiful?" Jester asks.

"Every day," Yasha says without thinking, her eyes focused on Jester, not the plant.

Jester whirls around to stare at her. Her cheeks are turning that purple color again, but Yasha doesn't think it's from embarassment this time. "Yasha, what the hell, that was _smooth_," she says. "Since when are you smooth?"

"Uh," Yasha says. "I'm not?"

"I'll have to be smooth enough for us both," Jester says, and then she's leaning in, bringing their lips together. They're at an odd angle — even sitting down, their difference in height is pronounced — and Jester makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat and rises up onto her knees, stretching up to fix the angle. Yasha ducks her head, meeting her halfway, and it's _good_. Jester's warm as ever, and Yasha feels like she's on fire everywhere they're touching; she's starting to think maybe that's less a tiefling thing and more of a _Jester_ thing, the way she always makes Yasha feel like she's burning up.

"Caduceus will be back soon," Yasha murmurs against Jester's lips.

"Caduceus can eat a bag of dicks," Jester says, sing-song, and then frowns. "That's too mean for Caduceus. He can wait a little longer, though."

"He wanted to collect the nectar, though," Yasha says, pulling back reluctantly and pointing to the flowers that have now finished unfurling.

"Ugh, I _guess_," Jester says. "He'd better appreciate this."

"He will," Yasha says. "Besides, this plant's only here for a day. We've got time."

**Author's Note:**

> This was so fun to write — I had so many wonderful prompts to work with here, and I just wish I'd had time to write them all! Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> A note on flowers: Most of the plants mentioned here exist either in Exandria or somewhere in D&D (mostly Forgotten Realms). I took a few liberties here and there: changing selune's tear to moonweaver's tear, making up flower meanings based on canonical uses, and using real-world meanings for plants that exist IRL. Here are the (mostly made up) meanings of the plants that appear in this fic: 
> 
> creeper roses: ambition, competition  
camellia of the dark lady: immortality, permanence  
snowdrops: sympathy, death, hope  
moonweaver's tear: dreams, premonitions, spirituality  
cornflowers: remembrance, hope, anticipation  
redflowers: hard work, thoughtfulness  
dathils: subtlety, good health  
daisies: suffering, martyrdom  
hinny: patience, reward  
bison-gourds: cheerfulness, freedom  
duskwood: hearth, home, putting down roots  
honeysuckle: affection, attraction  
felsul: strength, resilience  
orchids: love, beauty, strength


End file.
